This morning I decided to take a slow walk in the woods to see what I could see.  But I never made it past the downstairs deck.  For there, just a few yards below, was a show that absorbed and delighted me.

     Our hanging bird feeder was at the center of a lively scene.  In the surrounding trees and shrubs, and on the snow-covered ground, birds fluttered, glided, and hopped about.  

     Never alighting in one spot for more than a few seconds, the juncos, titmice, chickadees, and sparrows all seemed to be waiting for the right moment to make their next foray down to, over to, or up to the feeder. 

      I watched one junco cling for no more than a few seconds to a dry stalk protruding from the snow, and then dart up to the feeder, snatch a seed, and then flutter off to eat the tiny morsel deep in the safety of a skeletal shrub.

     Some birds, I noticed, made multiple stops between feeder landings,  spending just a few seconds at each perch. 

       Why so much activity?  In all the darting about, don’t these little creatures burn up all the calories they consume?  Or maybe the constant activity helps them to stay warm on a cold, winter day.

     Whatever the reason, all this avian activity gives me joy.  And it’s more than watching the birds that is so pleasurable;  their sounds account for a major portion of my enjoyment.  I am nourished by the soft, brushing noises of wings, as the birds flit hither and thither.  These low, busy sounds, punctuated now and then by chirps, evoke in me a quiet happiness. 

     Rarely were more than a couple of birds eating at the feeder at any given moment.  They didn’t seem too keen on sharing.  In fact, it was the smallest one, a pine warbler, I think, who appeared the most selfish.  When this little fellow had claimed a spot at the feeder, and a junco flew in for a bite, the pine warbler lunged at the newcomer.  The junco fluttered away, its stop at the feeder in vain.

     And while the feeder appeared to be the birds’ primary focus, there was plenty going on below as well.  Having heard that juncos prefer a meal on the ground to one at a feeder, I’d placed a metal plate of birdseed on the snowy ground.  The first junco I noticed visiting the plate did not actually eat from it.  I watched as the little bird hopped around the outside of the plate three times.  Occasionally, the bird stopped circling to jump up to the rim of the plate, only to jump immediately off again, without taking a bite.  

     Wondering if the plate’s metal felt strange or uncomfortable to the little bird’s feet, I took a handful of seed from the plate and spread it on the ground.  That did the trick.  Juncos ate the seed off the ground, leaving the plate to titmice who didn’t seem to mind it at all.  One after another stood in the middle of the plate, munching on the seed all around. 

     There was also another kind of ground action taking place. The snowy slope, which had recently received an icy coating, had become a hard crust.  I watched one bird after another fly to the ground, struggle to attain its balance, only to slide a little downhill.  One junco even tried to stop its descent with an outstretched wing.  Those who couldn’t soon right themselves simply did what birds do so well–lift their wings and relocate.–April Moore 

  

        

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 28th, 2009 at 2:13 pm and is filed under Celebrating our beautiful Earth. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.